


Silver In The Dark

by orphan_account



Category: Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Canon Backstory, F/M, Gang Rape, Multi, Other, Unfinished and Discontinued
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-28
Updated: 2011-11-28
Packaged: 2017-10-26 15:46:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/285048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One possible take on how Celebrian received her 'poisoned wound'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silver In The Dark

**Author's Note:**

> This is extremely unlikely to ever be finished. I wrote it around 2004 in the first flush of my involvement in LOTR fandom, and edited it in 2007 but didn't post it then.

In the darkness, an Elven woman lay weeping.

She lay curled in on herself, wearing her boots and the sleeves of what had been her overdress, her own red blood and the blood of two of her escort, and the foul spittle and noisome effluvia of too many orcs, more than she had managed to keep count of. Her long silver-gilt hair lay snarled about her, stuck together in places with the fluids that covered her body. Her eyes were dry; she had long since wept out all her tears. She had hardly begun weeping out all the pain the orcs had filled her with, however, so she sobbed in the dark, curled in on herself.

Eventually her sobs stilled, and her mind came back to her, and she reminded herself of who she was. She was Celebrian, daughter of Celeborn the Wise and of Galadriel the Lady of Light. She was not going to be defeated by orcs or any other agents of darkness. She slowly uncurled herself, rubbing her bruised shoulders gingerly to warm them, and sat up, staring into the darkness, envisioning light, but the only visions that came to her were horribly fresh memories.

* *** * 

It was a misty evening, near the Misty Mountains. Celebrian walked beside her grey palfrey, stretching her legs and humming to herself. She had spent a pleasant year with her parents in Lorien, and now she was headed home, to her husband and her three beautiful children, but newly grown to physical adulthood and so very young.

Afterwards, she would always think wryly, 'it happened so fast'. That is ever what people say. A high whining whirr came to her ear; before Celebrian even thought "arrow", Alcarinque gasped before her, pierced through, falling off her horse. Celebrian stepped forward to catch her in her arms, easing her to the ground, as chaos burst from the woods around them; orcs plunged yelling from the trees on either side of the path, even as Alcarinque's blood poured out over Celebrian's arms and breast, her fluttering eyes falling shut, her breaths fading. "No! No, Alcarinque, stay!" Celebrian called to her, even as she died.

Elven bows sang around her, but too few; Celebrian looked up to see but three of her escort standing over her, and one, young Unduion, stumbled back, pierced by arrows, even as she turned her eyes to him. Celebrian laid Alcarinque down to tend to him, ripping off the hem of her under-dress to stanch his worst wound. "Shhh, shh, do not speak," she said, as he rolled his eyes to her, his mouth working. Then something struck her head, and the last thing she knew was falling forward over his body.

* *** * 

Celebrian woke to darkness, rough hands carrying her by her bound wrists and ankles, a rag tied over her eyes. She tried to keep her breathing regular, but her first waking hitch betrayed her, and she was dropped onto rough, pine-needle-covered ground. "Hey, m'lads, our lady's awake!" called a rough voice in the Common Speech, and Celebrian shuddered and tried to curl into a small ball, even as her feet were unbound and her arms grasped in clawed hands. "On your feet!" a rough voice ordered, and with no other options, Celebrian complied.

Led by two orcs clutching her arms in clawed hands, jeering orc-voices all around, Celebrian stumbled in darkness for how long she could never tell, as the air changed from the air of woods to the air of tunnels of stone, until finally she was pushed to her knees and the cloth torn from her eyes.

Despite herself, she looked up. The red light cleared to reveal torches along the walls of a rough rocky chamber, a chamber filled with leering orcs. Celebrian looked around herself, and found nothing bur orcs in a ring all round her, staring and rudely joking but, as yet, not mauling her. Before she had much time to consider this small mercy a larger orc entered the room from one of several tunnels. "I've the word from the top, boys!" he cried in a deep hoarse voice. " _He's_ got plans for this one, but they ain't ready yet, so we're to warm her up a bit. Nothing to damage _permanently_ , though." That last was nearly lost in the roar of the orc-horde, as their clawing hands descended upon her. Celebrian screamed, then, trying to curl up on herself again, but orc-hands pulled her limbs away from each other, tore her clothes off, wound in her hair and dragged her head back; orc noses sniffed at her, foul orc breath washed over her, orc tongues licked her face, her neck, her breast, her legs and what lay between. She screamed again, struggling, and they laughed, and the hand in her hair dragged her head back and down, and when she screamed once more something living and rounded and scaly and warm pressed between her lips to fill her mouth with its noisome flavor. She blinked, and saw an orc's thigh before her eyes, realized what was in her mouth, and promptly, defiantly, bit down.

The orc swore, and withdrew with a jerk, but before she could pride herself a heavy blow to her face made her bite her lip. "Bitch!" she heard above her, but now she would not scream, not even when clawed hands held her wrists to the floor and wrenched her legs apart and an orc pushed its scaly member within her. She kept her eyes pressed shut and her mouth pressed shut and sought to retreat into her mind, seeking the light she knew was there, but a clawed hand pinched her nose shut, even as the orc within her thrust painfully; she bit her lip, struggling to hold her breath, until a heavy fist landed on her belly, and her mouth disobediently flew open, and the orc at her head thrust in till it was gagging her and she couldn't bite down on it, till its scrotum slapped against her forehead, and something broke in her, and she screamed again, even with her mouth full. And the orc between her legs spurted hot within her, and the orcs watching jeered and swore and laughed.

Celebrian could never have said how long it went on, how many orcs forced her, squeezing her all over with clawed hands, entering her body every way they could. She sought to cast her mind afield, but every noisome sensation dragged her back; she felt every drag of bruising armor or rough skin, scales or coarse hairiness, every scrape of nails and calluses along her skin, every heavy press to her belly or her back as they turned her this way and that and lay on her as they ravished her. Every searing thrust into her body, every tug on her hair and push into her mouth, every dreadful peak that choked her with their filthy seed time and time again. And she heard every jeer, every mocking word of praise, every groaned curse as orc after orc groped her flesh and used her body to peak after peak, often two and sometimes even three at a time. Dimly she felt the crowd grow less, till the last few orcs shuddered and laughed and let her drop, and she could curl up and hold herself and tremble and weep. When she opened her eyes again the torches were gone, and she was alone in the darkness.

The darkness beat at her eyes, at her mind, but she was Celebrian, and she would not give in to it. She forced herself to sit up on throbbing thighs and to unfold and stretch out her bruised limbs, to strip off her sleeves and wipe herself. She reached out with her mind and found no other elves, which gave her hope that those of her party who had not died had escaped; then her mind met a Presence, commanding and malignant, that felt as if It smiled indulgently at her and stroked her with a cruel clawed hand. Terrified by It more even than by the orcs, Celebrian fled back to herself, and wrapped her arms around her knees and shivered in the dark, and wondered how long it would take for Elrond to know that she was captive.

She considered death, if her husband and sons could not find her soon, but when she did cruel laughter rang in her ears. "As if I would let you," she heard, and pressed her hands to her ears, knowing even as she did its uselessness. "You are Mine, pretty elfling."

No, thought Celebrian. No! "No!" she found herself screaming, and the voice laughed again. Then she saw light, but it was red and distant; it came nearer, and was torchlight, and Celebrian thought to flee, even as she knew there was nowhere to go. So she raised her head and rose to her feet proudly, remembering that she was Celebrian, wife of Elrond, and no one's plaything.

The torches were borne by six humans clad in long grey robes, humans with blank eyes, reddish white in the torchlight, who grasped her arms and led her into dark tunnels and up long stairs. Celebrian extended her mind to them and felt only blankness and another's will guiding their bodies, as they led her to a dark chamber with a round pool of some liquid in its midst.

Celebrian gasped then, as she breathed and realized she breathed steam, that the liquid in the basin was water. It was a bath. Two of the human attendants led her gently, inexorably into the water, which proved warm and so comfortable on her sore, battered body that she felt her eyes fill. This was a torture disguised as kindness, she realized, and held herself erect and would not relax, even as the attendants began to bathe her and rinse her hair, their hands impersonally gentle, and it all done without a word. They drew off her boots and discarded them, and, though she could not have said why, now she felt truly naked, and shivered, but kept her head up.

Perhaps after she was bathed she would be dressed, Celebrian hoped, but instead after her attendants led her back up out of the bath and dried her and wound her hair atop her head; they wound a soft silken cloth around her wrists, binding them together, and led her from the chamber, the stone floor cold beneath her bare feet.

Now Celebrian began to shake, not just from the cold. They must be bringing her to Whomever the orcs had spoken of, the owner of the voice. She pushed down terror and thought of her mother's face, but the image of her mother wavered like water and fell away into darkness. She began to struggle despite herself, but the attendants tugged her along with more than human strength, pulled her into a dark chamber and pushed her hands up over her head, attaching them to a ring in a cold stone wall.

Then they left her, bare and bound and alone in the chill dark.

Celebrian thought of warmth and light. She thought of her mother's face, her father's hands, her husband's smile, her graceful sons, the star that glimmered on her daughter's brow. She thought of the fires in the Great Hall at Imladris, the light in the branches at Lorien. She clutched at her first memory of the Moon, the sight of Earendil two nights past. But, one by one, each image wavered and faded and slipped away into the darkness, until Celebrian could see, could feel, could know nothing but fear and the dark.

She hung there, cold stone beneath her toes and at her back, trembling, wishing for any living thing, any at all, to come to her, for she knew not how long. She tried to sing, and the songs stuck in her throat. She begged, and could hardly hear her own voice, her mouth seemed so choked with darkness. She wept till her eyes ran dry.

And then, without attendants, without prelude or fanfare, and certainly without the least glimmer of light, he came and stood before her.

 _Nazgul_. Celebrian knew him at once, light or no light. The Witch-king of Angmar, the Lord of the Nine, the chief servant of Sauron. Celebrian knew him, and with her last shreds of defiance spat in his face.

He laughed, and a clawed hand gently, so gently caressed her cheek, and a clawed thought gently, so gently, caressed her mind. And Celebrian, who had drawn herself straight and strong as a silver wand, prepared herself to withstand any pain, was undone by tenderness, and screamed in terror.

"Yes, my pretty elfling," he crooned to her. "Yes, my captive star. Sing for me." Some small shred of her thinking mind told her that she should stop screaming, stop trembling, stand proud and straight before him and deny him what he sought, but she was cold and weary and battered and captive, her strength low and ebbing, and every touch of his clawed fingertips wrung a scream from her throat.

And the screaming went on and on, as his touches did, as he stroked her skin from brow to ankles and nape to knees, pricking her with needlelike touches, caressing her with what would have been gentleness if his hands had held life, if they hadn't been hard and unliving as stone. And as he touched her he spoke in the silence, within her mind, murmuring how lovely she was, as a star drowned in darkness, how she would be his consort and spawn a thousand orcish pups, how she was the firstfruits of his lord's dominion over all Middle-Earth. That she was his, now and forever.

"No," she gasped, voice hoarse, thoughts wavering under the constant tremble-making touches and the thick darkness that seemed to whelm the world. "No." There was light, she reminded herself, light far above her, but it was as if it had never been; and yet, she found her voice. "You are but a child of Men, denying the gift of Illuvatar! All your foul deeds will come to naught but wrack and ruin! You are not my master and I am not--"

But her voice broke, when he set the keenest claw to the nub of her pleasure; she heard her own words fall away in a sob, as he so lightly pressed a mere finger's tip of adamant and ice and her whole body pulsed as with a lightning strike. "You are mine," he murmured in her ear, and there was no breath bearing his voice, nothing but deathly chill to the hand cradling her head, "and you will peak for me now, will you not?"

And even as she parted her lips to deny, a great undeniable pleasure unfolded at his touch, and the peak took her, wracking her from her inmost parts out to her fingers and toes, shattering her utterly in the palm of his hand. And he laughed, covering her gasping, keening mouth in a kiss like a draught of chill wind, and clawed hands lifted her thighs as he pushed into her, filling her body with the antithesis of life.

It was an exact mockery of the inmost act of life, the chill of him raising her gooseflesh and prickling her nipples till they ached, each thrust pushing ice into the warmest core of her as if it would freeze her utterly. Her head fell forward as she wept, shaking in his grip, as he took her and took her against the chill stone, endless as the crash of the Sea, in silence but for his steady pulse of satisfaction in her mind and the fall of her own tears.

At the last, when it felt as if she had done nothing else in all her existence but hang suspended in chill air as she was taken by the very embodiment of darkness, he laughed, cruel and clawed inside her mind, and though he did not peak he let her drop; the hook let her go and she crumpled to the stone floor, empty and cold. "That will be better in a bed," he said to her, "next time."

And once more she was left alone in the darkness, and now the darkness was within her as well as without her, coiled in her mind, suffusing her body.

Once more Celebrian had no idea how long she lay, unmoving on the stone. Now her mind fled, and though she dimly felt herself borne some way, heard the laughter of orcs and felt their noisome touch upon her as they used her again, thrust after thrust and spurt after spurt within her battered, numb body. At the last she smelled musty straw and dank furs and heard the clang of iron as she fell through space into a cage; it was all very far away, as distant as the next breath.

At length she heard iron screeching as steel smote it, as strangely familiar voices rang in her ears. She lifted her head, and saw, through the veil of her hair, two tall slender shapes limned in red light, battering at her cage. Two tall strong Elves. Her sons.

Celebrian's first thought was that she wished to die. Her sons, seeing her thus, it was not to be borne. The low fire of her will flared from ashes, dark with despair behind her eyelids. If she dropped her head, if they thought her dead---

"Mother, Mother!" they called, and the lock screamed as they battered it, and their bows sang as they shot orc after orc. "Mother, can you hear us? We've come for you! Mother, rise, please!"

Celebrian's children called to her, and she could not say them no. Trembling, sore, and naked, her hair tangled and her legs weak, she pushed herself to her hands and knees, then to her feet just as the lock gave and they pushed the door open.

"Mother," gasped Elrohir, "what have they done to you?"

"It matters not," snapped Elladan. "We've brought garments and boots. They're plain, but clean. Here, here, we haven't much time." Celebrian stood quiet as her sons dressed her, as they took her arms and led her out by twisting ways. They might take her from the darkness but it still lingered within her, planted too deeply.

Then she blinked, and saw light.

They burst from a tunnel, Elladan and Elrohir and a half-dozen of their companions shooting behind them as they ran, as she ran dressed in their same hunters' garb. Twelve horses stood waiting, bright in the sunlight, defended by three more Elves, their bows shooting singing arrows over their heads as her sons lifted her to the saddle and swung themselves up and the whole group galloped off. Out of reach of the orcs, of the Nazgul. Into the light.

Celebrian's eyes filled with tears, and she swooned.

[She wakes being carried by one son in the saddle, etc. She thanks them all, and rides on with her sons alone, and then the first stream moment etc.]

They wrap her in their cloaks and lead/carry her out, and when she insists let her bathe in the first stream they come to, the purity of the water a balm to her soul.

* *** * 

**Notes:**

http://www.tuckborough.net/witchking.html

Later on she tells her sons "don't tell your father".

She talks to Galadriel about it afterwards, before going over the sea, and tells her mother she wished for a light.

story to think of for Witch-king POV: http://www.libraryofmoria.com/unknown/ringandthecrown.txt

image to think of, when thinking of Celebrian's torments http://www.libraryofmoria.com/fanart/missinglover.jpg

(after the orcs soften her up, the Witch-king gets her to torture her, and really fucks with her head.)

submit this to LOTR noncon and maybe scifi smut, and the darkfic archive or two.

 

Lilith (lilithilien) replied to your LiveJournal post in which you said:  
> Hello again. Thank you for the comments, public and emailed, on my story!  
> I was wondering if anyone knows of any stories about poor Celebrian's > 'torment in the dens of the orcs'. Ever since I was old enough to have > noncon fantasies I've shuddered in delicious horror, imagining what might > have befallen her.  
> If no one's written one, I suppose I'll have to write one myself, and > post it here of course. But I want to find out if others have, first.  
Their reply was:  
ooh, it sounds like a great plot bunny, but no, I've never seen anything like that. I definitely think you should write it!!

She tells her sons to not say anything to their father. Her mother knows, though, and understands.

in postscript, Frodo tells her about her children, and she smiles

her farewell to Elrond: http://valarguild.org/varda/Tolkien/encyc/poetry/CelebriansFarewell.htm

http://www.ofelvesandmen.com/Stories/R/Rainchilde/ChainsOfSteelAndShadow/ChainsOfSteelAndShadow1.htm

http://www.scribeoz.com/fanfic/story.php?no=236

Look her up on Wikipedia . Remember her "poisoned wound". [Maybe she says her whole body is a poisoned wound.] – too melodramatic but keep in mind. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Celebr%C3%ADan


End file.
